


Bodies of Evidence

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fic, M/M, Pantslessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The FBI wants Neal's pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodies of Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> For the crack bingo prompt "pantslessness."
> 
> Thanks to mergatrude for beta.

"Neal, ERT need your pants." Diana stood with one arm outstretched, as if she expected Neal to disrobe in the middle of Seventh Avenue. "The residue from the explosion plus the dusting of cocaine – you're a forensics dream."

"What? What about Peter? He was there—" Neal looked around for Peter and caught a glimpse of him stepping out of _his_ pants and handing them over to a guy with a plastic bag. There were about thirty seconds while his knees were exposed to the midday New York sun and passers-by, and then Jones was handing him a blanket and Peter shook it out and wrapped it around his waist like a towel. He seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride. "No," said Neal.

Diana narrowed her eyes, but whatever she saw on his face was enough to make her shrug and turn away. "Boss?" she called. "Neal won't surrender his pants."

"Neal." Peter approached, sounding tired and a little cranky. "They're evidence. The sooner you hand them over, the sooner we can—"

"June—" started Neal, in a weak attempt to defend his attire from on-comers.

"You're covered in cocaine and gunpowder," said Peter, hitching his blanket. "I think June will understand. Diana, get him a blanket." When she'd gone, Peter pulled Neal away from the bustle of the crime scene. "It's not like you to be shy. What's the problem?"

"Nothing," said Neal, automatically. "I just—we're on Seventh Avenue. Since when does consulting for the Feds involve indecent exposure?"

"You're not wearing underwear?" asked Peter, hiding his surprise badly. He took a plaid blanket from Diana and ushered Neal toward relative privacy behind an SUV.

"No, I am," said Neal. "I just—" He sighed and gathered his wits. "I didn't come prepared for a public striptease."

Peter looked at him with narrowed eyes. "What are you hiding? Are you wearing a wire?"

"Why would I be wearing a wire? No, it's nothing like that." Neal held up his hands, still black with soot. Then he dropped them and ducked his head, confessing in a low enough tone that only Peter would hear. "I'm the victim of a midnight graffiti artist. I'd prefer if the others didn't see."

"I can turn my back too, if you want," Peter offered, chivalrous despite his obvious curiosity.

"Whatever," muttered Neal. "Just hold up the damned blanket." He waited until Peter obliged, and then slipped quickly out of his pants and grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around his waist in a flash. His pants fell to the ground in the scramble for decency, and an ERT guy must have been watching because he swooped in immediately and shoved Neal's pants into a bag.

"Thanks for the privacy, no really," muttered Neal at his retreating back.

"You okay?" asked Peter.

"Yeah." Neal secured the blanket more tightly and smoothed his hair. "First stop, June's?"

"First stop, the office showers," said Peter. "I have some sweats in my locker you can borrow."

Neal opened his mouth to object, but Peter just shook his head.

"You cooperate and come back to the office to clean up and help out with the Lambton report, and I won't ask why you have tally marks written in marker pen on your thigh."

Neal stiffened. "You looked."

"I'm a trained investigator." Peter pulled an apologetic face, but the tips of his ears were pink, like he'd divined the significance of what he'd seen.

Neal straightened his tie, carefully not meeting Peter's gaze. Mozzie might believe that the key to relationship equality was keeping score, but from now on, Neal was going to insist he do that somewhere else, like maybe on paper. He made a mental note to hide all the markers next time Moz stayed over.

"Like I said, I won't ask," said Peter. He clapped Neal on the shoulder and hustled him toward the Taurus, and for once Neal was glad of Peter's bland FBI front. "Come on. The sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner we can get back into some pants."


End file.
